


candyheartbeat

by KJGooding



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Banter, Dialogue Heavy, Falling In Love, Genderqueer Vince Noir, M/M, Post-Canon, Pronoun Buttons, Stream of Consciousness, Zooniverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJGooding/pseuds/KJGooding
Summary: Sometimes the things people wear give a message to everyone who sees them.  Sometimes it goes deeper than that.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. The Early Zoo Times

It was a drizzly afternoon at the Zooniverse, and many of the animals retreated to their shelters. Vince did much the same. 

He’d only had the job a few months, but Bob Fossil was already aware that working in the damp was a no-no for Vince and his hair. He had to rush to the hut as it was, and one side had already deflated where a raindrop had prodded it. Once inside, he patted it dry and reset it with some of his best gel, tousling it with his fingers and apologizing for the bad luck. 

But there was plenty to do inside the hut. Howard was inside somewhere - the little building seemed much larger than it was, on account of all the clutter and the winding hallways. He might’ve been cleaning or organizing something, maybe doing that thing where he sliced up fruit for the animals only to freeze it into a block, instead of blending it into a workable smoothie. Vince couldn’t think of a single animal in the whole place who preferred it that way, but Howard insisted he had a method, and Vince gave up arguing, nicked a few of the blueberries for himself, and went on his way. 

Yeah. 

Today it was quiet, apart from the sound of the rain on the corrugated roof, swishing down the gutters to the pavement, and the faint pulsating of jazz music from the kitchen at the front of the hut. Vince had used the opposite door, and decided to stay there. He gathered some of his crafting implements from the shelves in one of the many corridors, laid out a blanket on the floor, and set to work on his latest project. 

He got a button press recently from a charity shop, and this was his first chance to use it. With the aid of a huge stack of pastel papers and tubes of glitter paint, he was ready to go. 

The plan had been brewing in his head for three weeks - ever since Bainbridge introduced the new uniform requirements, following a meeting with Bob and everyone else in those baby blue numbers, which Vince rather liked - but he couldn’t grasp it until now. He was resistant to the change, all starched green and khaki, and wanted to make it his own. 

That, and another important matter. 

He put the pastel yellow paper to use first, cutting it into a heart shape and then giving it a border of orange glitter. Then he set it aside to try, while he dug through a huge bin of felt tip markers Howard kept around. 

The box must’ve been the tripwire. Vince sifted through one too many markers, and Howard came sulking in from the kitchen, wiping his fruit-stained hands on a tea towel and then tucking it into his pocket. He was wearing the new uniform already, taking full advantage of the utilitarian pocket lineup. Howard had used that exact phrase a number of times; Vince lost count. 

Vince huddled over his papers and started writing with the blue marker he had grabbed, while Howard towered over him. 

“What are you doing, little man?”

“I’m doing some badges for that horrible jacket.”

He gestured to the open closet - the same he had to get the box of markers from - and in the process, revealed some of his creations to Howard’s line of vision. 

“What are  _ they _ ?” Howard asked, nodding to indicate the pastel yellow heart, where Vince had written ‘they’ in his neatest handwriting.

“They’re brilliant,” Vince said evasively, crouching back down over his crafts.

“He? Who’s he?”

Howard caught sight of another one, and Vince sighed. 

“I am,” Vince muttered. “Most of the time.”

“What?”

“I am, I said.”

“Well, you were mumbling.”

“Like  _ you _ never mumble.”

“Hey, whoa,” Howard said, slowly kneeling down to Vince’s level. “What’s the matter? You can always ask to use these, you know.”

He picked up one of the markers, a nice rosy pink one, and Vince looked at it for a moment before asking to take it. 

“Thanks a lot,” Vince said quietly. 

“No, I mean it. Is something the matter? I don’t like seeing you all worked up like this. You can tell me anything, Vince.”

“I wasn’t in a bad mood, honest. I just got to thinking about the uniforms, they’re a bit cringey, aren’t they? I mean you wouldn’t know, you just like all the pockets… but it’s hard on me. I don’t have anything to put in there, Howard. If my clothes aren’t telling people who I am, I’m lost. I can’t stuff the pockets with poems and multitools… I’ve got nothing without my style. And I had to take my whole wardrobe down to Oxfam - I had to make an appointment and everything, so they’d have enough people on staff to go through it all… I had a mini heart attack. This is my A and E.”

He gestured at the papers and paints and his button press.

“I came out with this, though, and it’s  _ genius _ ,” he said, touching the handle of the press. 

Howard admired the lever and the gears, then withdrew when Vince gave a hands-on demonstration, pinching Howard’s finger along with the first of his buttons, glitter fully dried. Vince chuckled, but Howard tried to keep his composure, in the interest of getting Vince out of his sour mood. 

“It’s nice to see the pronoun getting its fair dues,” Howard observed, as Vince shuffled through his other designs, writing ‘he’ and ‘she’ and ‘him’ and ‘her’ and ‘they’ and ‘them’ on the different colors in quick succession. “They’re the pillars of the English language.”

“Is that the one you want, then, ‘they’?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll do you one if you want.”

“What for?”

“Just to have. It tells everyone around you what they’re getting into. I’m doing some with sexualities on ‘em, too, so you can get the full effect.”

“ _ What _ ?” Howard repeated, scrunching his face up and making Vince devolve into another fit of laughter.

“I thought you knew what these were. Come on, Howard. This isn’t the 1950s.”

“I’ll have you know these have been around since the sixteenth century,” Howard retorted, taking up one of the heart-shaped messages. “Conversation lozenges, they used to be called. Then kissing-comfits according to Shakespeare, then candy hearts according to… people like you.”

“Well, that Shakespeare was onto something; I only picked this theme because they’re my favorite breakfast cereal.”

Howard quirked his brow. If he hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, bracing himself against the button press on one side and one of Vince’s cushions on the other, he would have fallen backward. And if he had known Vince any longer, it would not have been a surprise at all. 

“Maybe you should be taking a look at Howard Moon’s Breakfast Menu,” Howard said grandly. “Those are all sugar and hollow promises, you can’t be fueling yourself with that. Weetabix and a crossword puzzle, that’s what you need. You want things to say, right? Things to put in your pockets?”

Vince thought for a moment and then shrugged. 

“No, it’s all right. I’d rather just have my clothes back. They can be so much louder than I can. It doesn’t matter, let me tell you about these, okay?”

He took his finished creation and pinned it to the lapel of his uniform jacket. 

“So you put these on, and when people see them, it helps them figure out what to call you and whether they’re gonna be interested in you or not. You remember that time I went out with Leroy? We went to that neon club, you remember?”

Howard blinked at him, as if this would transfer his disbelief. Vince had hoped, in the same way, that it would transfer the memory instantly, but neither transference occurred. 

“No,” Howard said. “How can I?  _ I wasn’t there _ .”

“No?”

“No, you just said, it was you and Leroy.”

“Right… we went out to this new place and everyone thought I was his girlfriend. I didn’t get chatted up  _ once  _ the whole night, it was embarrassing!” 

“I hate to shatter your illusions, Vince, but people always seem to think you and I are, you know, an item, when we go out on a weekend.”

“I don’t think they do.”

“They do. And it doesn’t stop them chatting you up, that’s for sure.”

“That’s because they’re not afraid of you.”

“What? Are you saying I wouldn’t defend my girlfriend’s honor? If… if I had one? How dare you.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way! I’m saying you seem like an open-minded guy, that’s all.” 

“Loads of people ask about my wife, who else would they mean? You’re sitting right there in some hot pink outfit, peering over my shoulder, dipping a cherry in my drink and then popping it into your mouth like you’re in some low budget porno. Of course they think you’re a woman.  _ That _ ’s embarrassing.”

“No, it isn’t.” Vince said, tossing his arms. “I don’t mind what people call me! I think it’s fun to play around with all that - clothes and what they mean, you know? Because they don’t mean anything, I just like them.”

“Ten minutes ago, you were telling me your clothes have more to say than you do. Now they don’t matter, and you won’t shut up…”

“Just listen, alright? The buttons help other people more than me.”

Howard gave him a skeptical look, but Vince pressed on:

“I’ve got loads of transgender friends, and it’s dangerous for them out there. I don’t want to be part of the problem now, do I? Plus, these are adorable.”

He scrubbed at the edge of his button with his finger, shining it to an almost audible degree. Howard could feel the thing squeaking at him, and he could not pull away his focus. 

“What’re you saying?” Howard asked, still entranced. 

“More people wear these, the more people expect to see them. They’ll seek ‘em out, and we won’t have as many accidents. And I can still trade out which one I’m wearing, if I want to. It’s just like me wearing a pinstripe suit in the morning and then as much glitter as I can get on myself before we go out at night, yeah? These things can change, it’s okay.”

“Do you mean it would…” Howard had to look at the floor, at last, before finding the conviction to continue. “Are you saying it would be okay for me to wear one?”

Vince’s eyes lit up. 

“It would be  _ amazing _ , yeah. Which one do you want? You seem like a ‘he’ kind of character, but I don’t want to assume.”

Howard paused and then started sorting through the papers, looking for a particular beige he’d had his eye on when he bought the assortment in the first place. 

“Yes,” he said. “Have you got room there for ‘man of action’ underneath?”

“Action underneath  _ what _ ?” Vince teased.

“No, just… here, I’ll trace yours to make sure there’s enough room. Thank you.”

He reached out to unpin it from Vince’s lapel, and lined it up on his paper of choice, tracing with an orange marker. He had to go around the circumference twice to get the closely-matched color to show up at all, so he chose a much darker tone for the words themselves.

“Yeah,” Vince encouraged, patting his shoulder, “really have fun with it. I think gender’s supposed to be fun, anyway. And sexuality too, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Howard said, trying to look unaffected.

“That’s the ticket,” Vince went on praising, as Howard reached for a tube of diluted gold glitter. It, too, was vaguely in the beige family, but it was a step up. “If we work together, I reckon we can do enough for everyone at the Zoo. Animals and all.”

“Yeah,” Howard forced into a laugh. “The new manager might find that helpful. He’s awful with names.”

“He knows mine,” Vince said. But when Howard scowled at him, he added a soft, “ _ sorry _ .”

“But these are… nice. This is good,” Howard insisted, as he traced another circle. “I’m glad we’ve got you on board.”

He could feel his heart racing, and tried to focus on his task. 

Vince smiled to himself and went back to the box of markers, shuffling through them as the rain went on pattering over their heads for the rest of the afternoon.


	2. The Leeds Countryside Times

In order to polish it properly, Vince had to take the jewellery out of its case. If treated well, he saw no reason for it to last any less than a lifetime. 

It was a simple gold band, kept tucked in a case, caressed by a cushion of gentle suede. Vince doted on it like it was a beloved pet, even giving it a kiss before the hot breath and a bit of buffing from a soft cloth. Sometimes he tucked the case under his pillow, waiting for the memories attached to it to come wandering up into his dreams. Other times, he displayed it in a glass box, up on the wall within the forest of his photoshoots. He never liked to be too far away from it, as simple as it was. Maybe it attracted him because it was shiny, but he liked to think it went deeper than that. After all, it reminded him of the most important person in his life, and all the times they had shared together--

He put it back on its cushion and clicked the case shut, sighing to himself. 

“Oh, Howard…” he said softly. 

This time, he kept the ring case clutched in hand, because the outfit he had chosen did not have a single pocket anywhere on it. A long, flowing tunic and scarf in lavender and grey, respectively, with dark trousers and a reasonable pair of silver boots, nothing to draw undue attention from the observance he was on his way to attend. He took a hooded, black cloak from a hook on the wall, and hid the ring case in his hand underneath the pleated fabric.

“ _ Howard _ ,” he said again. “Howard?  _ Howard! _ ”

“ _ What?” _ came the call from upstairs. 

Vince was only aware that the keys on his typewriter had been clacking away all along when they abruptly stopped. He could tune out noises well enough to fall asleep anywhere, and he had forgotten Howard was even home. 

“Are you trying to make people think I’ve died?” Howard eyed him suspiciously, as he came  _ clip-clopping _ down the stairs. “What’s all that about? The black hood and veil?”

“This is  _ peak  _ countryside dandy. Anyway, maybe I  _ am _ going to a funeral… I mean would it kill you to put your wedding ring on?”

Vince moved his hand subtly, preparing to offer the case to Howard - but Howard knew what he was doing, and reached under the cloak to snatch it away, before Vince could have the satisfaction. 

“I would do,” Howard said, heaving the box open and rushing to slide it onto his finger, “if you didn’t obsess over polishing it every hour of the day.”

“I only do that ‘cause you leave it lying about, and I can’t have it getting dusty.”

“I do not leave it  _ lying about _ ,” Howard was insistent, and took Vince’s hand as they approached the front door. “I like to have it somewhere safe until I need to wear it, that’s all.”

“Until you  _ need  _ to wear it? What about in sickness and in health, all that?”

“The vows I wrote were  _ way  _ better than that.”

“I didn’t understand half of them. And I don’t see what  _ that’s  _ got to do with leaving your wedding ring lying about where someone could take it. It’s embarrassing. It’s only been twenty years!”

“I know, that’s why I’m putting it on. Our anniversary dinner  _ certainly  _ merits wearing it.” He paused. “Thank you for polishing it up, by the way.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“It sends a message, yeah?” Howard nudged, leaning into Vince’s side. 

Vince immediately softened at this, and pressed one hand to Howard’s chest as they continued their walk, taking a serpentining path from their place in the countryside. It would lead them all the way into town, if Vince didn’t get distracted and stop at the neighbors’ flower garden, first. 

“Yeah,” Vince agreed. 

“You and I already know it, there’s no point in me wearing it all the time at home. I’d rather see it kept safe. I’m hardly going to steal it from under your pillow while you’re sleeping.”

Vince smiled at him and decided against arguing. He pursed his lips, pouted, let his tongue go flitting across his lower lip… Howard was too distracted by this to speak, so Vince had to carry on for them both. 

“I do like it there,” Vince said. “It tells me stuff. Reads me your poetry… not the published stuff, no, it goes all the way back to your Cream Era.”

“Those were good times,” Howard affirmed, smoothing his hand in a circle over Vince’s back. 

“What message does it give you?” Vince asked, innocently nodding his head 

“It tells me that you love me,” Howard said - simply, emphatically. “When we go out, it tells everyone the same thing.”

“So no one chats me up,” Vince chuckled. 

“I think you’ll find it’s the bestselling author they’re chatting up, not the past-his-prime model. I don’t take anyone up on it, though, because it’s just you and me, all the way.”

“You and  _ I _ , Mr. Bestseller,” Vince corrected.

“Right.”

Their stroll led them through the richly flowered landscape, past swaying trees and marble benches and arches with flourishes of fairy-lights draped over them. Vince had not cared for the outdoors until they moved here. The outdoors of the Zoo were contrived, artificial, and the outdoors in London was nothing but grime and danger. The outdoors, here, meant he could walk with his arm linked through Howard’s, admiring the sights. 

Then he felt Howard fidgeting. He just couldn’t help it, especially with Vince holding onto him, and in public no less. Vince withdrew his arm and started on an apology, but Howard cut him off. 

“No, it wasn’t that. I’m fine. I thought you could do with part of your gift, that’s all.”

“We haven’t even had dinner.”

“When has that ever stopped you from having sweets?”

Howard produced a sparkling sachet of  _ conversation hearts  _ from inside his coat pocket. After ensuring there was no lint in the bag, Vince did take him up on the offer, popping three candies, orange and pink and pale yellow, into his mouth at once without even reading him. Howard chided him but did not stop him, and in fact hesitantly took one of them to eat for himself. 

“Hey, Howard?” Vince said, with that same sweet naivete of twenty years ago. Howard felt privileged to hear it, and to be allowed to look at him in response. 

“Hmm?”

They stopped walking, for a moment, with Vince fortuitously turning in front of one of those archways in the distance, blurred out of focus, leaving the fairy-lights glimmering around his head like a halo. Howard had to catch his breath. 

“What message does my ring give?” Vince asked. 

From beneath his cloak, he revealed his hand and the wedding ring he never removed, pressed in silver and full of weighty gemstones. Vince liked to say you couldn’t find that many rubies all together anywhere else in the world; Howard liked to say you could, if you knew exactly where to look in the arctic, like he did. 

“What, that? Other than ‘my husband wanted me to rob a jewellery store’ you mean?” Howard said, admiring it as Vince returned his hand to the spot it repeatedly nested in, on Howard’s chest. “It says you’re the proudest, most flamboyant queer this side of the equator.”

“Thanks, Howard,” Vince was genuine. 

“And that I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? It was really nice to sit down and write this in one go. I have missed these characters so much and I had the time of my life writing them again. I hope you enjoyed as much as I did. I have a greater appreciation of Vince's views on gender now than I did when I first watched the show, years ago. Goals, tbh.


End file.
